


Sweeter Than Honey

by speedgriffon



Series: I Shall Taunt You a Second Time | Dragonborn Fiona Fics [3]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Pre-Speaking With Silence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-28
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-07-23 13:29:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20009071
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speedgriffon/pseuds/speedgriffon
Summary: When Fiona explains her plans for the next job in Solitude, Brynjolf can't help but fall for the classic honeypot. (A prompt response for "The can’t-tell-if-flirting banter").





	Sweeter Than Honey

To find the Cistern quiet at any time of day was strange. Yet, when Brynjolf returned to the Thieves Guild headquarters that evening, he found it unusually devoid of its members. Even the Flaggon had emptied out, Vekel mumbling something about most of the crew being busy with jobs in the hold and other cities. Sure, the Guild’s luck with work had certainly changed as of late, but to find most of his friends missing unsettled him. That, and he had a hankering for company after being away from Riften himself.

As he peered across the Cistern, he noted Viper and Cynric asleep in their cots. Niruin was awake, at least, but seemed focused on his archery training. Brynjolf continued to stand in the archway to the graveyard exit as he scanned the room, trying to convince himself he wasn’t looking for a particular person. But then, across the large pool of water, he caught the bright shine of her icy blonde hair and smiled.

 _Fiona_.

He hadn’t seen much of her in the last few weeks—between his travels to Markarth on a mission for the Guild, and her own jobs in and outside the city, their paths had not crossed much. If Brynjolf was honest, he would say he had missed the lass. When she had first been recruited to the Guild, he had been her constant supervisor as she worked odd jobs to build up trust within the group. They became _friends_ —if friends flirted, and teased each other with lingering touches and prolonged eye-contact. By the Nine, she had _kissed him_ , and he would be a fool to say he didn’t want her to do it again, that he wanted more.

But now Fiona was working jobs for Mercer and the Guild on her own—she didn’t need Brynjolf as her shadow, and he saw her less frequently. It went against his very nature to contemplate the emotions she stirred up in his heart, but now he was left wondering if the distance had changed their dynamic. Did Fiona still feel—if she felt anything for him—the same way? Brynjolf shook his head as he walked along the cobblestone, banishing away his foolish thoughts. He was not a romantic, not a man that got hung up on whether or not a woman _liked_ him.

He bypassed the Guildmaster’s desk, noting the grimace Mercer wore as he stared at the various letters and maps before him—the man was in no mood to talk. Instead, Brynjolf advanced to his original target, smirking to himself as he observed Fiona working at the alchemy table. He strode up behind her, studying the spread of ingredients she had on the table.

“What do you have here?” he asked, reaching around her waist to poke at the pile of mushrooms with his finger.

“Careful,” Fiona spoke, brushing his hand away. “Those are poisonous.”

Hesitantly, Brynjolf rested his hands on the edge of the alchemy table, framing her body. He peered over her shoulder again, curious to what she was making. He had never fully mastered the art of alchemy, and could barely remember which flowers healed and which numbed the tongue. Fiona continued her work, deft fingers carefully rotating the pestle as she added small branches of canis root to the granite bowl.

“What do you need poison for?”

Fiona turned her head ever so slightly to peer at him with a small smirk. At least she didn’t seem bothered by his close proximity.

“That noble in Solitude that Vex and the others had trouble with,” she explained, focusing back to her work. Brynjolf took the opportunity to inspect the exposed skin of her neck that he so rarely got to see when she wore her hood. Fiona continued, “Mercer wants me to have a go at it. Seems the noble has some valuable information hiding away.”

“Hmm,” Brynjolf answered, half distracted by the smell of mountain flowers lingering in her hair. “So you plan on paralyzing the sod?”

“Yes.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

Fiona glanced at him over her shoulder again with a coy smile. “I’m going to tempt him.”

“A honeypot?” Brynjolf questioned her, eyebrows perked. “That tactic is…surely beneath you, don’t you think lass?” He didn’t mean to offend, but the thought of Fiona using her charm and wit—her _body_ —to seduce a man did not settle well with him. For a multitude of reasons.

“I’m no harlot,” she responded.

There was a bite to her words that made Brynjolf falter and pull away. “Perhaps you could enlighten me with this plan of yours, then.”

Fiona regarded him, silently eyeing his expression as she bottled the ground mixture. He knew that look—the hint of mischief shining in her eyes before she said something to taunt him. It excited and unnerved him all the same.

“It’s simple, really,” she started, turning to face him fully. “To appeal to a man’s baser instinct.”

She closed the distance between them once more, tilting her head to elongate and flash more of the silky pale skin of her neckline—she _knew_.

Brynjolf subtly cleared the sudden lump in his throat. “It will take a lot more than a few sultry glances to—”

Fiona’s hand rested on his arm, gripping around his bicep in an affectionate squeeze. “I’ll make sure to compliment his frame,” she paused, her other hand reaching towards his face where her fingers wisped across his jawline and through his hair. “Tell him how _handsome_ he looks.”

Brynjolf’s chest tightened as he got lost in the moment. Her playful demeanor told him she was putting on an act, and yet, there was _something_ in the way she spoke the words to him that made him want to believe she was genuine. Or at least _genuinely_ flirting.

She ensured that her body was as close to his as possible without touching, chin tilted up so she could peer up at his eyes. She slowly blinked, her long lashes a tantalizing sight. She leaned in closer still, lips hovering over the shell of his ear.

“I’ll whisper something bawdy to rile him up…” she trailed. “About how he must want to pin me against the table and ravage me until I’m screaming…perhaps.”

Brynjolf tensed, and he closed his eyes tightly to focus his thoughts. It took all of his nerve not to grab her by the waist and carry her off to one of the back rooms to have his way with her. Or to simply push her back against the alchemy table and plant his lips along her neck as he desperately craved.

“Of course,” the tone of her voice changed. “I’ll suggest we share a bottle of wine first.”

Just like that, Fiona had pulled away. Brynjolf felt like his gut was on fire—his skin was crawling with gooseflesh, and he knew that beneath his hair, his ears were bright red.

“It’s an easy tactic. But it works _oh so well_ ,” Fiona boasted with a wicked grin. “I’m an exceptional flirt.”

 _Aye_ —and it drove him mad. He had fallen for her ruse, and while he would’ve normally been irritated at the thought, with Fiona, he wasn’t at all surprised. Of course she had caught him off guard, and performed it so easily. Not that he would admit any of this to her right then.

“Just hope you are the nobleman’s’ type,” Brynjolf finally spoke, softly chuckling to himself when he noted the small twitch of doubt that flashed across her features. “Though, any man would be a fool to deny you.”

If Fiona thought his words serious, she hid her reaction well, her small smile all he saw before she spun around to grab the bottle of paralyzing potion from the table. He studied her form, feeling the slight frustration from before. As much as he liked the games, and the flirting, he was starting to tire from walking that fine unmarked line in the sand. Sure, Brynjolf was the type of man who could easily find any woman to warm his bed and keep him company, but he had grown bored of that life. What he wanted was Fiona. And soon, she would be gone again. 

“Brynjolf,” her voice snapped him out of his frustrated confusion. He ran a hand across his face before facing her. She was grinning, eyes bright she looked at him. “Why don’t you come to Solitude with me?”

“What for?”

“You just said,” Fiona remarked. “Just in case I’m not that nobleman’s _type_.”

A pause, and then the two were laughing in the shared delight of the thought of Brynjolf seducing a target that nobody else in the Guild had been successful in stealing from. When their mirth faded, he could tell there was something else she wanted to say, and drew closer to her once more.

“What else is it, Fiona?” he prompted.

“I—I miss having you by my side,” she explained in a rushed, quiet voice. A flash pink to her cheeks told him she was being honest.

Brynjolf tried his best to hide the sudden burst of pride he felt, knowing that there was a hint of truth to her earlier charade. As much as he admired her charisma and thieving skills, he loved seeing this secret, vulnerable and demure side of Fiona—something she saved only for him. He wanted to be honest as well. 

“I missed you as well, lass.”

He was happy to be with her, however he could.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are always appreciated


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